Two Hours Of Foreplay
by MiladyGirl
Summary: Bernard's looks drive Theresa up the wall. How to spice up a boring meeting at Westworld. Smut without actual sex.


**A/N**

Ever since I found a screenshot zooming in on the notes Theresa left Bernard, I've been wanting to write this fic. Today I got around to it. This is smut without actual sex. It's… well… two hours of foreplay. LOL

Enjoy! Reviews are greatly appreciated, if you're so inclined. 😊

* * *

He is looking at her from right across the table. Theresa knows this even though she keeps her eyes fixed on the tablet in front of her. She can feel it. It feels like being caressed. She can tell exactly where on her he's looking, too, because that's where the sensation is strongest. A shiver of pleasure runs down her spine and she knows he just thought about kissing her neck.

 _Oh God. Those eyes are wandering_ , she thinks and has to adjust position in her chair, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs.

"Miss Cullen?" Ford says in a polite tone, and Theresa returns to reality, where Bernard is _not_ hooking his fingers inside her panties and begins to peel them off of her, as opposed to in her fantasy.

"Yes, I apologise, I was distracted by-"

She knows Bernard is smirking. Even if his face is serious – and she doesn't dare to check - he's still smirking inwardly. Oh, that wonderful bastard, he's going to get for this.

Her voice doesn't betray anything, and she doesn't miss a beat as she continues;

"- these numbers of maintenance cost; they have really gone up in the past month. Do we know why?"

"Ah, I believe we have Bernard to blame for that, don't we?" Ford says and looks to the head of programming. Theresa curses privately, not sure she can look straight at the man sitting across from her without blushing, but nevertheless schools her features into professional indifference and does.

"Guilty as charged," Bernard says. "We have added certain new features and have unfortunately had to ran tighter diagnostics on them to weed out the bugs. I think I had a meeting with QA about that, but I could be mistaken." He looks to Theresa, and it feels like his eyes are setting fire to every nerve-ending in her body. She wants to fan herself, suddenly convinced everyone can see how flustered she is.

"Now that you mention it, I seem to recall a brief meeting on the topic."

 _If by meeting, you mean a horizontal one-on-one in the bed that belongs to head of the QA, where the following pillow talk included the head of programming saying: 'by the way, we added some new features today', to which she responded: 'make sure you run close diagnostics, we don't want to have to pull any hosts out of service'. And then they spooned until they fell asleep._

"I was not informed that the costs would spike to this extent, however. Has Delos been informed?"

"Yes. They aren't overly pleased of course, but they understand the importance."

He peers at her over the rim of his glasses. Theresa envies him his complexion; even the slightest flush is glaringly visible on her fair Scandinavian skin and she hates it.

 _Don't blush_ , she tells herself, as if she can override her autonomic nervous system by sheer willpower. It's the word 'pleased' that gets to her, that along with the discreet but smouldering look in his eyes. Did he really have to pick the chair right across from her? She's certain he did it on purpose just to tease her like this.

It's working too, annoyingly enough. Her pulse is quickening, as is her breathing. Her lips feel hot, as if she is already kissing him passionately. And she's getting wet.

"Very well," she says. She has already lost track of the conversation again. She can't concentrate on anything but how desperately aroused she's getting. She has to watch her body language carefully now, so she doesn't reveal too much in front of Ford, Stubbs, and the others.

The thought has barely entered her brain when she realises that she's biting her lip.

 _Goddamnit._

Ford turns his attention towards Stubbs, asking him something about the security. Theresa relaxes somewhat and sends Bernard a flash of her infamous death glare, as quick and sharp as a lightning strike. She means to look away immediately, but Bernard removes his glasses and puts them onto the table, and she can't help watching his hands. God, she wants those hands all over her. Squeezing certain places, rubbing others…

She shifts in her chair again, arching her back a little as the muscles in her thighs contracts, a forewarning of the coming contraction of other muscles.

 _For fuck's sake, Tess, you can't orgasm just from looking at his hands, no matter how dirty your mind is._

Her body seems eager to prove her wrong. She bites the insides of her cheeks hard, focusing on the pain, and then redirects this focus onto the data on her tablet. Stubbs's security team has raided one of the guest quarters for a stolen host. Apparently, some people can't keep their adventures to the park area.

While some can't keep their sexual tension to the bedroom.

Bernard's eyes have wandered back to her again, his intense gaze is gliding up her smooth legs. She can almost feel his touch, feel his hands gently parting them, one hand resting high up on her thigh while the other reaches underneath her skirt, and if he _did_ do that, if he touched her there, he would know just how badly she wants him right now.

Theresa's entire body is trembling with suppressed desire, she feels practically electrified. She can't stand this much longer, it feels like this meeting has dragged on forever.

As if he reads her mind (which she dearly hopes he isn't), Ford begins to wrap up the meeting.

"Bernard," he says, and the man who has been visually making love to her for two hours straight somehow manages to appear completely unfazed. That is so unfair. Theresa feels like she's about to self-combust.

"Yes, sir?" Bernard says.

"Would you mind staying for a few minutes? I would like your opinion on a new feature I'm considering."

"Of course," he says.

Theresa follows Stubbs and the other department heads out, and when she walks by Bernard she refuses to look right at him. But she can still feel his eyes on her. Right now, in his imagination as well as hers, he's running his hands down her waist, hips, ass. Oh, what she wouldn't do to have them there physically, right now.

 _I swear to God Bernie, you're going to get a proper punishment for putting me through this torture._ After _you've fucked me senseless._

She heads directly to her office and scribbles a note on a piece of paper, which she then leaves in the drawer of his office desk, where she usually leaves tiny notes. This one reads:

 _Bernie,_

 _If you're going to look at me like that during meetings, I'm going to have to ask that you not sit right across from me. A little hard to concentrate._

 _See you tonight._

 _Tess_

He doesn't need to know _precisely_ how hard he made it for her to concentrate. At least not until he comes by tonight. The moment the door closes behind him, she doesn't plan on having any mercy on him whatsoever.

They haven't had sex standing up yet. Tonight they will. Because Theresa already knows she won't have the patience to take it to the bedroom.

After all, they've just had two hours of foreplay.


End file.
